The Plea, page 35
part #2 of Eddie Flynn Series
“Associates cleared out?” asked Dell.
“Every single one. Gerry Sinton is in the office next door. Agent Patton led the raid. He made the arrest. Apart from that, the whole building is clear,” said Weinstein.
“Good. We’ll need Sinton.”
Weinstein buzzed Agent Patton on the radio, told him to bring Gerry Sinton to the conference room.
Dell dragged David forward by his handcuffs and pushed him into a chair at the end of the slate conference table. An open laptop sat on the table, and Dell snatched it, placed it in front of David, and instructed Dominguez to take off the cuffs.
“Find me the money,” said Dell.
From his jacket pocket, Dell produced a pen drive and slotted it into the laptop.
“This is your program, the trace for the algo. This is your only chance. This can go easy or hard. I’m going to ask one time only—tell me where you sent the money.”
I put my back to the window of the conference room, and for a second Kennedy’s eyes met mine. Christine pulled herself closer to me.
“I didn’t take the money. It’s supposed to land in a new account in Ben Harland’s name—that was the trace result. I checked it myself. If somebody altered the final account destination, it wasn’t me. Here, let me show you. I’ll pull up the trace.”
His fingers worked fast on the soft keys. No one spoke. The only sound I heard was Christine, her chest fluttering like a startled bird as she breathed.
“What the hell is this?” said David. Kennedy leaned over David’s shoulder.
“Oh my God, it’s a virus,” said David. “It’s eating the data. It’s burning everything—here and at the bank. I’m locked out. I can’t do a single thing,” he said.
“You put a virus through the system?” said Dell.
David’s mouth was open, hands wide. Shivering now, afraid. He swiveled the screen around. It was fuzzy and frozen—the images distorted.
Pulling the drive from the laptop, David held it in front of Dell and said, “The virus came from this drive. It uploaded as soon as I opened it.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been playing us the whole way,” said Dell, snatching the pen drive from David. “This is evidence. That was your last chance. You’re done, Child.”
David stood, anger pulling him upright.
“I’ve done nothing.”
“Goddamn it!” said Dell, slamming closed the lid of the laptop. “Kennedy, Ferrar, Weinstein, take Christine White and Child into custody. Charge them both. The full spectrum of charges for White—laundering, racketeering, the whole damn cake. Book Child for grand larceny and whatever RICO charges you can think of. Either he’s hiding the money for Gerry Sinton or he’s stolen it for himself. Either way he’ll talk at the federal lockup. Take them. Eddie, you stay here. I need to know what David told you about the algo. I’m not sure you haven’t been playing a con the whole damn time. If I find out you knew something about it, you’ll be sharing a cell with your client.”
“Go,” I said to Christine. “I’ll find you and I’ll get you out.”
“This is all wrong,” said Kennedy. But Dell didn’t listen. Reluctantly, Kennedy, Ferrar, and Weinstein led Christine and David to the elevator, David protesting his innocence. I was thankful for Kennedy as he led Christine gently into the elevator. She lowered her head and shook it, wiping away fresh tears, unable to let anyone see her like this. I saw the muscles in Kennedy’s jaw working overtime. His gaze fixed on David. The elevator doors opened and swallowed them up.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
Dominguez left by the stairs. He was going to man the reception and secure the building. His partner adjusted his sunglasses and took up the coffeepot. Poured himself a cup, pulled up a seat at the conference table. Dell turned and punched on the glass partition of the conference room. A large man with a bald head and wearing a blue tee, whom I guessed to be Agent Patton, marched Gerry Sinton into the conference room. Cable ties around Gerry’s wrists. Agent Patton stood behind him, his hand on the back of Gerry’s neck, forcing his head down.
“No one else in the building?” said Dell.
At the sound of Dell’s voice, Sinton’s head shot up, and his eyes met Dell’s.
“Clear and secure, Mr. Dell,” said Agent Patton.
“What is he doing here?” said Sinton, looking at me. He’d lost the suit jacket. The cable ties were cutting off the circulation in his wrists. His hands were red—same color as his face.
“Your former co-counsel might help me clear some of this up,” said Dell.
“Why don’t we talk in private,” said Sinton. Dell shook his head.
“Not until we work this out. Eddie, Sinton says he doesn’t have the money. He was waiting for it to hit his partner’s account. He killed his partner because he knew the money would end up in an account in Harland’s name. Under their partnership agreement, in the event of a partner going missing, the other partner has power of attorney to manage their financial and partnership affairs. I figure Gerry here was going to lift the entire pot of eight billion and make it look like Ben Harland took it and disappeared in his yacht. But Gerry didn’t account for Ben’s body washing up yesterday. That gave him a problem. The money had to move again, into a different account that couldn’t be traced to him. So either Child took the money or Sinton did. Or maybe they’re working together. Either way, we’re going to stay here until somebody tells me where it went.”
Sinton sure was smart. He could kill his partner, frame him for the whole enterprise, and walk away with the money. Had he changed his plans when Harland’s body was found? The way David had talked about the algo, I’d gotten the impression that it couldn’t be altered, but that all depended on whether David was telling me the truth.
Patton delivered a savage kick to the back of Sinton’s legs, dropping him to his knees.
The treasury agent wearing the sunglasses suppressed a laugh and said, “You heard Mr. Dell; start talking.”
“Let’s talk alone,” said Sinton, his eyes pleading with Dell. Agent Patton kicked Sinton again.
My cell rang. Kennedy.
“Hold on, Dell. Let me take this.” I accepted the call. “Hey.”
“Eddie, it’s Kennedy. Listen to me very carefully. David and Christine are safe. You are not. Whatever you do in the next five seconds, do not to react to what I’m about to tell you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
“I’m listening, Cooch,” I said.
“Good,” said Kennedy.
My heart was banging. My eyes closed. Deep breath.
Dell shook his head. He couldn’t believe I had the audacity to take a call and interrupt him. “Can you believe this guy?” said Dell, throwing a hand at me.
“I just got a call from the associate director of the FBI. I’d asked for intel on Sarah Callan, the woman who posed as Clara Reece. It just came back at the highest level. Sarah Callan was an alias for Sophie Blanc—a CIA operative. She’s listed as KIA last year in Grand Cayman, following an armed assault on her convoy, which was targeting a witness in an ongoing investigation.”
“Cooch, you know what that means?” I said.
“Patton, was Sinton carrying a weapon?” said Dell.
Patton pulled a Glock from his waistband and gave it to Dell. The treasury agent in the aviators slugged back the coffee.
“Dead women don’t go to lectures on GSR. Dell lied to us. Sophie and Dell have set this whole thing up together. They’re going to steal the money and frame David for murder and the theft of the eight billon.”
All I could do was bite my lip. Dell and his girl framed David for murder. They wanted him to take the plea so he would be sent to jail to die. And he would surely die, because they’d framed him not only for murder, but for the theft of the money itself. It was brilliant.
Dell checked the weapon Patton gave to him. Popped the magazine, slotted it back in.
“What does the DA have on this guy?” I said.
“We don’t have much yet. But we’ve got enough to arrest. We’re coming up. Full tactical assault. Hold on for two minutes.”
“Call me when you hear back from the DA,” I said. I put the phone down on the table.
Dell widened his stance, turned, and casually shot Agent Patton in the face. The treasury man dropped his coffee and swung his feet off the desk, and Dell put a bullet through his aviators. Dell lowered the gun, pointed it at Sinton. I was on the opposite side of the table, and as far as he was concerned, I was unarmed and no threat.
I had two choices. I could clap my hands. Or I could make a move myself. The situation was too complex to rely on anyone else.
I ducked, and in half a second Dell’s backup piece was in my hand, the barrel pointing over the table at Dell’s head. The piece was still warm from sitting at my back all day.
“Don’t move,” I said. I had the drop on Dell.
My hands were shaking, my back soaked in sweat. The sight on the Ruger’s slide quivered in my grip as I tried to hold it firm, and I saw something on the weapon. Or rather, I didn’t see something. There was no serial number on Dell’s Ruger. Same as the murder weapon. The only place you can get a gun without a serial number is if you tell the manufacturer that’s the way you want it. The United States government could do that, if they didn’t want weapons traced back to them. The kind of weapons used in CIA black ops.
Dell looked at the gun in my hand.
“That’s my piece. I want it back.”
Nobody moved.
“Dell, you double-crossing son of a bitch,” said Sinton.
The CIA man silenced Sinton with a punch to the face.
“Hands in the air, Dell,” I said. He stepped back, kept the piece pointed at Sinton, and turned slowly to face me.
“You ever shot someone before, Eddie? It’s not as easy as it looks. You don’t have to kill anyone and you can walk out of here, you know. There’s always a deal to be made, right? But I need to understand how much you know. And how much it would cost for you to keep quiet. I’m going to put two rounds in Gerry’s head. You see, Gerry Sinton just killed two treasury agents. Then I’m going to leave here and meet a special friend. And that friend can send you fifty million dollars. You’ll have it by tomorrow. That same friend is gonna spread traces of the money over Gerry’s accounts—seventy or eighty million, say. And the same for David Child, you, me, and your wife. We’ll be clear and rich. So tell me, how much do you know, and is it worthy fifty million?”
“No…” said Sinton.
I kept my eyes on Dell’s hands as I spoke. I needed time. Kennedy was on his way.
“It’s worth a damn sight more than fifty, Dell. You told me Grand Cayman was the Panama Canal of dirty money. My guess is you knew every operation going and you made a lot of money skimming off the top. But that kind of business is risky. You said so yourself. The fewer people involved, the better. I think Sinton got the idea of using technology to move the cash, and he laid you off along with the other money mules. You didn’t like that. I think Bernard Langhiemer is in the CIA’s pocket—your pocket. I think he’s your special friend. You got him to frame Farooq so you could lean on him and get whatever information you needed to pretend to go after the firm. Farooq told you about the algo, the piece of tech that replaced you, so you wanted your revenge on David as much as the firm.”
Dell nodded, smirked.
“Sarah, or Sophie, or whoever she is, created Clara Reece to get close to David. She faked Clara’s death, murdering some other poor girl and wiping out her face so the cops couldn’t ID the body. Then Clara hid in the panic room until it was clear and walked out of the apartment in a hazmat suit. Langhiemer helped you frame David by setting up the car crash. You used me, you used Christine, and you used David. His arrest put the firm into meltdown and caused them to trigger the algo. They didn’t want David talking to the FBI. You needed the firm to panic and hit the wash button so you could be waiting to grab the whole pile when it landed, framing David for the robbery of eight billion dollars.
“If you wanted information from David, you could’ve picked him up and scared him into giving you whatever you wanted. No, you needed a patsy. You needed David to plead guilty to the murder. That’s the only reason you got me involved. Shit sticks, right? You told me that yourself. Nobody would believe David didn’t steal the money after he pleaded guilty to killing his girlfriend. You weren’t just setting him up for murder. You were setting him up to take the fall for your robbery. This was always about the money. David’s setup was elaborate and brilliant—easily worth eight billion. That’s how much I know. That costs a lot more than fifty,” I said.
“You son of a bitch!” screamed Sinton.
Dell had turned his attention on Sinton. “You paid me to wash the money, but you didn’t need me anymore after Child came up with his algorithm. I don’t like being fired from the criminal organizations that pay me for my services; it sets a bad example for the rest of them. This is the greatest robbery of all time. Don’t you see that? I set you running like a hare, and you were very quick to kill your old partner. I got to say, I enjoyed that. It made things easier for us. How do you feel now? I’m taking it all, Gerry.”
The gun shook in my hand, I’d never shot anyone before, but now seemed a good time to start.
“Eddie, I’m going to pull the trigger. It’s all over for Gerry. Don’t shoot. Before I do that, I need to know, do we have a deal? One hundred million sound fair?”
“If it’s dirty money, why the elaborate frame-up, Dell?” I said. I needed to buy time. I wasn’t about to give up David or anyone else, and I knew Dell would kill me the second he had a chance. I knew I shouldn’t have pulled the gun. I should have clapped my hands. Come on, Kennedy, where are you?
“Oh, I’m not worried about the cops. No, I’m worried about the organizations who own big chunks of that money. The cartel already sent their man up here to check this out. Only way I can survive this is if they go looking for someone else—someone like David Child.”
The elevator chimed and the doors opened. I thanked God that Kennedy had made it. Slowly, Dell turned, shielding the gun as he did so. My gut tightened when I saw that it wasn’t Kennedy. Twenty feet away, standing in front of the elevator, were the last two people on earth that I’d expected to see.
A figure in black. The man with the tattoo of the screaming soul—El Grito. In one hand he held a gun. His other hand was wrapped around the throat of Sophie Blanc. Her hair was cut short and dyed black. A livid bruise seemed to almost fold her face in two. But it was her. Sarah, Clara, Sophie, did she even know who she really was anymore? Right then it probably didn’t matter. She knew she was dead already.
“We’ve been watching you,” said El Grito, in a thick Latin American accent. “Langhiemer is dead. No one is coming to get you out of this. I found this little whore in Langhiemer’s apartment. Drop the gun and take me to the money. And then she will die quickly. This is the best I can offer. You know this, puto.”
The cartel’s hit man gave me a small window; a single moment of distraction was all I needed. I dropped the Ruger at my feet. I raised my arms above my head and clapped my hands. The window came in around me, covering me in a wave of shards. The thunder of breaking plate glass was answered by gunfire. El Grito threw his hostage on the floor and started shooting. The doors beside the elevator burst open—Kennedy came in low, Weinstein and Ferrar behind him.
I ducked, leaned over the slate table, grabbed the edge with both hands, and heaved the whole thing over onto its side. The table weighed a ton, and as I pulled it, I tore the muscles in my back and let go of the damn thing just as it smacked into the side of my head. I went down behind it. The lights in the whole building went out. Standard FBI tactical assault.
Deaf.
I could feel the vibrations from the weapons. Blood and teeth-shattering cracks roared in my ears.
Blind.
The visceral dance from the coruscating muzzle flash. Fireworks from the parade bloomed phosphorous flowers in the black Manhattan sky. Inside, the deafening ballet was punctuated only by the teeming black of the room, which seemed to fight against the glimmer of muzzle flash. The dark wanted this place, and fought for it. I couldn’t tell if it was the darkness or the men that did the killing.
I lay flat on the floor and watched sparks from the exploding TV ignite the carpet.
And then silence.
The quiet came before the smell—that sour odor from hot metal burning and tearing through flesh and bone and life. The shattered window let the Manhattan breeze into the place—almost in a futile attempt to wash the smell away on the air.
My body would not move. It felt as if my limbs were betraying me, paralyzing me, so that I couldn’t get up and catch a bullet. I thought of Christine, and Amy, and somehow I moved.
I still couldn’t see much. My eyes stung from the smoke coming off the burning carpet. On my hands and knees, I couldn’t find the Ruger. Ahead of me, a Glock. I took it and stood up.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
I thought everyone was dead.
The offices of Harland and Sinton, attorneys-at-law, looked like a war zone. I could taste blood in my mouth, probably from the table tumbling over on top of me. The metallic taste mixed with the smell of burnt acid rising from the spent cartridges rattling around on the floor. A fat moon illuminated ghostly trails of smoke that seemed to rise from the floor and evaporate just as I caught sight of them. My left ear felt as though it were filled with water, but I knew I’d merely been deafened from the gunfire. In my right hand I held a government-issue Glock 19. I moved around the table, and in the firelight from the smoldering carpet, I saw Sinton crawl across the floor, reaching for a gun. Without another thought, I pointed the Glock at him and fired. The bullet took him in the thigh, and he rolled over. His rasping, blood-slicked breath gave out. There was already a mass of bullet wounds in his chest. I took comfort from that. I hadn’t killed him—he’d been dead already.
The Glock was now empty. Sinton’s legs had fallen across the stomach of the corpse next to him and, in a curious moment of realization, I noticed that the bodies on the floor of the conference room all seemed to reach out to one another. I didn’t look at each one; I couldn’t bring my eyes to bear on their dead faces. I saw the treasury agents, Patton and the man in the sunglasses. Dell’s victims. I looked around for Kennedy, but I didn’t see him.
